nothing more than a wounded heart
by sherlicks
Summary: SPOILER ALERT! POST VOLUME 11. Battered, bruised, and bleeding, Carlito Flores is far from "fine". Having been betrayed by the woman he loved, killed her, and shot in the chest, even being alive is a pain. But that's just it. After all of it, he's still alive. Making friends was never her forte, but the illusive Kara Yan had somehow made one of him. And now he's dead.
1. part one - carlito

**This was written in two parts; Part One in first person, Carlito; and Part Two in third person, Kara. My friend and I were looking for a way to resurrect Carlito Flores after Volume 11 for our roleplay. Here's what we came up with.**

**So for all intents and purposes, ****I DID NOT WRITE PART ONE OF THIS****. They are the words of the lovely and absolutely brilliant Hazel, which you can also find here: carlito-flores(tumblr)post/36911221127/i-open-my-eyes**

* * *

I open my eyes.

At first, all I feel is confusion. The ceiling, low and plain, doesn't match the grand, gilded decor of the Salazar mansion. The sheets on this bed are rough, not at all like the expensive ones Esme had shipped from Monaco. And Esmeralda…where is she?

Suddenly, it hits me. My heart plummets like a stone. I remember…everything.

Gunshots, a flash of light, shouts…and then nothing. Nothing except pain, as I lay there, slumped again the wall, staring into Esme's empty eyes. Feeling the life draining from me with every breath. When I blacked out, it was a relief. A blessing. It was over, finally.

So what the hell is this?

I try to sit up, only to fall back against the pillows with a hiss. The pain from the wound is intense, burning; worse, even, than when it was inflicted. The bandages around my chest are soaked through with blood, and the skin around them is tender and swollen.

As carefully as possible, I crane my neck, trying to figure out where I am. The room is cramped, but well furnished. Tiny round windows line the wall to my left, letting in sunlight and a fresh sea breeze. The room rocks gently, almost as if I was…on a boat? The only sound in the small cabin is the waves lapping against the hull. I feel myself start to relax…

And then, suddenly, tearing into the silence, the Macarena starts blaring from several wall mounted speakers at an ear-splitting volume.

Well, that explains it, I think. I'm in hell.

I wince as Dr. Luis Villareal sashays into the room. "Surround sound system, all around the boat," he says, grinning toothily. "You like, yes?"

All he gets is a glare.

Luis frowns. "You could be more thankful, you know. If it wasn't for me, you'd be dead!"

"Yeah," I say roughly, "I'm still trying to figure that one out."

"Well, Mr. Flores, to be honest, I didn't think you were going to make it…two bullets to the chest tends to be fatal…One hit your sternum and lodged in the muscle tissue; the other punctured a lung. Luckily for you, Dr. Villareal came to the rescue, out of the goodness of his heart!" He smiles, a smug expression on his face.

"Who paid you?" I ask coldly.

Luis drops his jovial facade and sighs. "Believe it or not, Jacob Fallon."

"What?! How could he possibly have known-"

"Jacob didn't tell me to save you, exactly- After your father's death, he offered me a hefty sum of money to keep an eye on you, make sure things were running smoothly in San Trobida. I figured that included "being alive"."

My eyes narrow. "Why would he even care? He and my father were business associates, true, but what did I ever do to deserve this?" I gesture at Luis. "Jacob Fallon did not get this far in the industry by being generous with his money. And paying a man to risk his life for the enemy? That can't come cheap."

He turns away. "To be honest, I didn't fully understand either. Jacob didn't trust the Salazars; he thought they were tricking you. When I asked him why he was helping you, he just smiled and said that…that no one should have to live without a father."

Luis, usually so upbeat and comical, pulls up a chair and sits down heavily. For the first time, I notice how tired he looks.

"He…he was a good man."

Something in his tone makes me pause. "…was? Jacob Fallon is…dead?"

"Yes," the doctor says, smiling ruefully, "and he took Salazar with him."

Silent, I contemplate what I've just learned. With Salazar dead, the cartel will collapse…the rebels will be free to take over the country.

Strangely, though, the idea no longer fills me with rage as it did when I first joined the General. I had witnessed firsthand how he'd treated the people…destroying the forests, enslaving children, executing villagers on a whim. He'd been slowly killing San Trobida from the inside out. It was time for a change, and if that change had to be attained through bloodshed, so be it.

And Fallon…An honorable man, against all odds. I'd never really considered him trustworthy, even when my father tried to convince me otherwise. I should've listened to him, from the start. Maybe I wouldn't have ended up in this mess.

Suddenly I realize something. "Wait a second…if Fallon died during the rebellion, why bother coming back for me at all? You already had your yacht and your money; nothing was stopping you from leaving the country for good!"

Luis grins widely, showing me the bloody gaps where his teeth used to be. "Do you remember that day? Do you remember, when Salazar picked up those pliers, what you said? 'This man is not going to break.' And you were right. Because you can take my dignity and you can take my freedom, but I will die before I give up my honor. I made Jacob a promise. A promise to keep you safe. And I plan on keeping it.

There was another reason, something else you said that day. Something important. You defied the General. You looked him in the eye, with nothing but your pride to protect you, and you told Salazar that what he was doing was despicable. Never, in my twenty years of working for General Salazar, have I seen a man do that and walk away alive. It takes either a very courageous or foolish individual to accomplish that, and I'll be damned if I let any such person rot in some God-forsaken villa in the jungle.

Lo and behold, when I found you you were alive. Hanging between life and death by a thread, perhaps, but still very much alive."

I smirk. "It takes more than that to kill a Flores."

Luis rolls his eyes. "You're not out of the woods yet- see how inflamed your wound is?"

He unwraps the bandages. I wince as I see the two ragged holes in my chest. The flesh around them is an angry red and pus oozes from the wounds.

"This doesn't look good…it's even worse than yesterday. Infection's set in, and if you don't get some proper antibiotics soon, we can expect necrosis. And that, my friend, is fatal. I'll have to get you into the hospital somehow…a fake name, perhaps? They won't have painkillers, though, and I can't guarantee 3 meals a day. San Trobidan hospitals aren't exactly state-of-the-art."

He carefully applies a new dressing to the wound, then stands up and turns to leave. "Oh, one more thing- I found this in your suit pocket."

Luis tosses me a small, shattered object…my phone! I catch it and turn it on. Half the screen is unrecognizable under the spiderweb of cracks in the glass, but I manage to make out some words.

11 missed calls?

I tap the mailbox icon, and the screen fills with messages, each more angry and violent than the last.

Kara.

I start to type a reply, only to find that the keypad is useless; it must have broken in the fall. I let out a frustrated sigh.

"Luis, do you think you could send a message for me?"

* * *

I've been stuck in this hospital bed for what seems like an eternity- Days? Weeks? It's hard to tell.

Luis was right- the infection has spiraled out of control, and with it has come a sweltering fever that blurs the line between nightmare and reality. I slip in and out of consciousness, weak and delirious.

A nurse lays a cool hand on my forehead. I try to speak, but can't seem to form the words…

My father stands next to the hospital bed, silent and grave…

A sick child cries in the room next door…

Esme smiles and traces the contours of my face. Blood trickles from the corner of her mouth…

Doctors gather around me, speaking in low voices…

What is real and what is fake? Does it even matter anymore?

When the fever does subside, it is replaced by the deafening roar of pain. But I welcome it, because it feels sharp, real. It reminds me that I am alive.

I'm jolted from my thoughts by the sound of voices outside the door. A nurse shyly says something about visiting hours- it is almost 4 AM, after all. "No te preocupas," the other person responds in subtly accented spanish, her voice smooth and confident.

There is a sharp crack of splintering wood and the door flies open, the doorknob leaving a deep gouge in the wall. Without thinking, I prop myself up against the pillow. The pain flares up again and I grit my teeth.

In the doorway, her eyes ablaze with dark rage, stands Kara Yan.

I smirk. "Took you long enough."


	2. part two - kara

**This is Part Two, which I did write myself. You can also find it here: kara-yan(tumblr)post/36913298960/nothing-more-than-a-wounded-heart**

**And before you ask, the relationship is completely platonic. The two have absolutely no romantic feelings towards each other whatsoever, and I doubt they ever will.**

* * *

**San Trobida Hospital [3:34 am]**

Kara strode briskly down the dark hallways of the hospital. Even through the thick walls that were separating her from the wounded and them from each other, she could still hear the low moans of pain. At night, and early in the morning before the sun came out, the triumphant joys of winning the rebellion were lost in the darkness. Only the sacrificed were remembered, and all the blood and the pain.

It got worse the further in Kara walked. The screams of a young child calling for his mother almost made the young woman stop, but there was nothing she could do to help them. She was no doctor after all, and the act of emotionally comforting another person was never something she was good at.

She pressed onwards, looking for a specific room—number 307, a ward of private dorms dedicated especially for those just recovering from major surgery. Kara knew that they wouldn't be keeping him there long, with the sheer number of those in need of medical attention. He would have to be relocated, and soon, too.

Kara came to an abrupt halt in front of the door in question. She studied the knob. It was locked. Her hand immediately went to her pocket, where her lock-picking tools were held. She hesitated, her fingers gliding over the smooth, cool metal picks before withdrawing her hand, leaving them.

Simply picking the lock and opening the door wouldn't do it for her. She needed something _bigger_.

"Lo siento, señora, pero las horas de visita no empiezan hasta las seis," said a tired-sounding voice behind her.

_I'm sorry, ma'am, but visiting hours do not start until six._

A nurse working on the floor had noticed her.

Kara turned around. She held an expression of careful composure, her face a blank slate, not showing any emotion. The Spanish flowed from her mouth naturally, her voice a level monotone.

"No te preocupas, no voy a estar en el interior por mucho tiempo."

_Do not worry; I will not be inside for long._

With that, she swiveled on her left foot and applied a swift, sharp kick to the space just below the doorknob with her right. The door swung open and hit the opposite wall with a loud _bang_, no doubtingly leaving a mark.

Carlito Flores did not expect the door to come crashing in. He abruptly sat up from his place in the hospital cot. This action made him wince, the sudden intense fire at his chest momentarily distracting him from the fact that his door was just kicked down by a five foot three Asian girl dressed in a grey blazer and skirt, with what looked like a long sword strapped to her back.

By the time his vision cleared again, Kara had slammed the door shut behind her and was already at his bedside. A scowl broke through her mask of collected calm. Her eyes looked murderous.

He smirked. "Took you long enough."

The woman leaned forward and pressed a finger to the man's bandaged chest, applying just enough pressure to make him squeeze his eyes shut in pain.

"You're alive."

If his chest wasn't hurting with the intensity of being impaled by several thousand ceremonial spears all at once, Carlito would've scoffed and rolled his eyes at her.

"Of course I'm alive, Yan," he managed through clenched teeth. "If I wasn't, my chest wouldn't be hurting so damn much right now. And you're not helping things…"

Kara removed her hand wordlessly and sat down on the small stool beside the bed. Five full minutes of complete silence passed by. The room was still, and the eerie quietness soon got uncomfortable for Carlito.

"So why are you here? You're not one to pay house calls, Kara."

The woman didn't respond, and her expression was unreadable again. Her fingers twitched ever so slightly.

"If I didn't know better…" he continued, his tone both teasing and sarcastic. A large amount of tension had built up in the room, and it needed to be broken. "… I would've believed that it's because you _care_. Just a little. Little Miss Kara Yan, a girl who claims to have no friends—"

Carlito suddenly jerked back, the action bringing a fresh flare of fire from his chest wound again. But this time, the pain wasn't only from his chest. The man's cheek was bright red, and he could taste blood in his mouth.

Kara had punched Carlito Cesar Flores in the face. Hard.

"**You. Bloody. Bastard,**" she growled, most definitely not happy.

"WHAT THE HELL, YAN? WHAT WAS THAT FOR!?"

The woman stood back up, her full emotions finally showing through.

"GODDAMMIT, FLORES! I THOUGHT YOU HAD **DIED**. BUT YOU'RE JUST LYING HERE, FINE AS A FUCKING DAISY."

Carlito stared back at her, incredulous. "FINE? IN _WHAT WORLD_ WOULD THE CONDITION I'M IN BE CONSIDERED '**FINE**'!?"

"IF YOUR BRAINS ARE SPLATTERED AGAINST A WALL AND YOUR HEART ISN'T STONE COLD AND STILL, **THEN IT'S CONSIDERED 'FINE'.**"

"You're impossible!" Carlito winced, leaning back into the pillows. The yelling had caused his chest to start throbbing again, making it difficult to breathe.

He grimaced, tenderly probing his cheek to make sure she hadn't dislocated his jaw. It hurt, and was most definitely going to bruise terribly later on. "Fucking. Impossible."

Kara sat back down, fuming, and crossed her arms across her chest.

"Where's Elizabeth?" she asked, after another long silence.

Carlito blinked. "Elizabeth. Ah. Your gun. Well… I _may or may not have_ left it at the compound when I was shot…"

Kara's left eyebrow twitched, and she swiftly struck the man in the back of the head with the sheathed sword.

"OUCH! DAMMIT! WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING THIS TO ME, YAN? As if the chest wound wasn't enough…"

"I _told_ you to be careful with Lizzy. And now I'm most likely never going to be able to see her again because of you. You've disappointed me, Flores." Her tone was cold.

This brought back Carlito's anger, and his sadness to. Despite his nerve endings screaming at him to stop moving, he sat upright again.

"WELL _EXCUSE ME_ FOR BEING A _BIT_ DISTRACTED! In case you haven't already inferred; I WAS BLEEDING TO DEATH ON THE FLOOR. This being _just after_ ME KILLING MY OWN WIFE. **CONGRATULATIONS.** YOU WERE RIGHT. SHE _DID_ KILL MY FATHER. And, out of anger and the need for vengeance, I SHOT THE ONLY WOMAN I'VE EVER LOVED IN THE FUCKING HEAD."

Carlito Flores did not cry. He wouldn't, even after something like this, especially in front of someone like Kara. He just sat there, huffing, trying to catch his breath, trying to not drown in the physical and emotional pain that was seizing him. His Esmeralda, the love of his life, had betrayed him. He was blinded by his love for her, by her kisses and her comforting words. And it was not okay.

Kara's grip tightened on the sword. Carlito had lost all his steam. He squeezed his eyes shut once more and braced himself for the second hit in the head that he knew would surely come.

Instead, all he heard was a quite exhale. A gentle hand pats him on the top of the head, much like how somebody would comfort a wounded dog. The action was hesitant and awkward, but the intent was still there.

"I'm sorry."

The apology was said so quietly that it almost wasn't heard. _Almost_.

Carlito opened his eyes to see Kara ruffle his hair a bit and withdraw her hand. She was staring at the blank hospital wall before them, avoiding eye contact. Everything that she wanted to say to him was condensed into those two short words.

The two words that rarely ever genuinely passed her lips, because of the regret and hurt buried in them.

The two words that she _hated_, because of how useless and pitiful and superficial they were.

The two words that weren't said to her when her own father was killed, because nobody cared enough to say them.

But this time, this one time, she meant it.

"You of all people know that 'sorry' doesn't fix things, Kara."

"I do. But it doesn't stop people from trying."

They sank back into silence again.

"Hey Yan… Just out of curiosity, but why do you have a sword with you?" Carlito asked after a while.

Kara sighed. "It's a long story. I got in a swordfight with a certain blonde cop, and the thing was too valuable to leave at customs when I crossed the border, so…"

"So you brought a samurai sword with you onto an airplane. Just like that."

"Yup."

"You are impossible," he repeated, shaking his head.

This brought a small smile to Kara's lips.

"And what about you? Mr. "Emanuel Rodriguez"? I saw the sign outside. I know that you need an alias and all because of your relation to the General, but really? Come on, we went over this…"

"We also went over how I _wasn't_ going to use "Esteban Julio Ricardo Montoya Dela Rosa Ramirez'."

"But it's a classic!"

"It's the name of a bellboy who works at a fictional hotel in a television show made for ten year olds."

"Oh shut up."

Carlito chuckled quietly. It still hurt him to move, but the pain was more manageable now. Kara stood back up, grabbed her things, and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

She spun around to face him again, her trademark smirk back on her face. "To wait outside for two hours until when 'proper visiting hours' start like a good Samaritan. Wouldn't want to stress out that over-worked nurse of yours." The woman raised an eyebrow. "Why? Are you going to miss me too much, Carly?"

"You wish, Yan."

"And don't think you're off the hook. I'll be spending my two hours thinking of good ways to get you back for this."

"Get me back for _what_? _Being alive?_" His incredulous look was back too. He really didn't understand this girl sometimes.

"Yes. Precisely. You had me worried that I was going to have to find a new home for Bella, you fucking bastard. _Nobody_ seems to want a marmoset monkey these days."

"Goodbye, Kara."

"Hasta luego, cariño."

With an exaggerated flirty wink, Kara walked out the door.

Carlito rolled his eyes.

A few minutes later, the nurse came into his room, checking up on him.

"¿Está todo bien, señor Rodríguez?"

_Are you all right, Mr. Rodriguez?_

He thought about Esmeralda, General Salazar, Mal, the shooting, his father, and the holes and stitches in his chest. Everything was changing, ending, and beginning. There was absolutely no way to stop it.

"Estoy bien."

_I'm fine_.


End file.
